


Heat

by Vennat



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Blood, Death, French, Gunshot, LITERALLY, Referenced Alexander Hamilton's mother, Sad, angel laurens, george eacker is a fucking coward, heat - Freeform, i have 800 other fanfics to be working on currently damnif, i wrote this a while ago it's shit sorry, phillip deserved better, prompt-heat, the answer is fucking death, where did honor get him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-30
Updated: 2017-05-30
Packaged: 2018-11-06 18:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11041539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vennat/pseuds/Vennat
Summary: Phillip Hamilton challenged George Eacker to a duel in the heat of a moment.In another moment, Phillip was slipping away.





	Heat

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while ago for the challenge "heat" and I don't do smut. So. This happened.

Prompt; Heat

The heat of anger as he leers in Eacker's face, challenging him to a duel.

The heat of his father's hand on his shoulder,  _"Make me proud, son._ "

The heat of a bullet in a gun. The hammer striking the powder, sending the bullet whizzing from the barrel.

The heat of blood from a wound, flowing, spilling down his front. Warm. Metallic. Slipping between his lips, as he whispers “ _I was aiming for the sky_ …”

And then on his knees, choking on his own blood. And Eacker is smirking, turning his back to him and strolling away, _strolling away._

His gun is slipping from his fingers, since when had the blood soaked onto his hands?

God, he has to get back across the river. Has to tell his pop, needs to make him understand he did _exactly as he said._

He wonders now, he wonders. Will mother be angry? Angry that he let himself get shot over something as trivial as honor? But there was no honor in this. Father said Eacker would follow suit if he was truly a man of honor. Where had honor gotten him?

He was on a boat now, rocking side to side. Back across the river?

His father was touching him on the forehead, wiping the sweat from his brow. Phillip let out a breath, he could tell him now, he could tell him! His father would be proud! Proud that Phillip had done as he told him, let his virtue show no matter the other man's lack of it.

But the words wouldn't come out, and the heat was spreading, seeping into his lungs. The words were choking in his throat, he couldn’t get them out, Father _had to know!_

He let out a strangled cry, words unable to form in his mouth.

And then his mother was there, and she was wiping his brow. And his breath slowed. He felt her presence; warm, comforting, and the heat was no longer so harsh and unforgiving. His hands were in hers tightly, reminding him of times gone by from when she held his hand in hers and they would play piano. Oh how they would play!

He wasn’t sure what to say to his mother in these last moments.

His mother leaned over him, near his ear.

“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf_.” And she understood. God, she understood. She knew he didn’t know what to say, and he wasn’t warm anymore. He was burning up. He wondered if his mother knew. Did she know? Did she know that everything she loved burned? Fire was in his belly now, climbing up his throat. Still, he choked out what he thought his mother wanted to hear.

“ _Cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf_ ,”

“ _Good_.”

And he smiled, happy she knew what he wanted to say, but didn’t have the strength for.

“ _Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept,_ ”

“ _Un, deux, trois,_ ” and his breath left, the unbearable heat going with it.

Uncle Laurens!

He’s there. And a woman, with a matronly look about her, she looks like his father. He wonders who she is.

And he smiles. It’s warm here, pleasantly so. He forgets about the heat in his belly, now replaced by the warm light of this place.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That was shit!!! I'm so sorry if you read that!!


End file.
